


Rock Hard

by Balmyfables



Series: Rock Hard Romance Novellas [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Death Knights - Freeform, Embarrassment, Groping, Humor, Masturbation, Multi, Siblings, Slow Burn, Tavern, best friends are sometimes annoying, bestial voyeurism, mana wyrms are floating euphemisms, steamy romance novel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-07-04 01:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15831282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balmyfables/pseuds/Balmyfables
Summary: This Steamy Romance Novella series explores unsung heroes, NPCs that keep the world moving, and reluctant Champions that maybe aren't the exemplars their factions want them to be. Part 1 follows the misadventures of a mage who tries to live the way he wants to (hunkered in a bunker for hours, studying the arcane), but Azeroth won't let him.Famous NPCs sometimes make appearances, and Valrion is based off of my friend's toon. Inspired by the wonderfully raunchy items in World of Warcraft: Steamy Romance Novels https://wow.gamepedia.com/A_Steamy_Romance_Novel.





	1. Just a Humble Mana Farmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unintentional main character.
> 
> [Edit 4.23.19: rewrote the first chapter so that it sets up later chapters better, and split Ataka's story to her own novella. New chapters to come shortly!]

_Male Masturbation and Gay Daydreams_

 

Valrion clambered through the chaotic environment of the Netherstorm. His breathing was light and quick, his muscles warmed and his pulse accelerated, and he ducked between the shifting shadows of boulders as he stalked the mana wyrm.

<Are you masturbating about the arcane again, brother mine?>

Menna’s whisper nearly made Valrion jump out of his skin. The mage lost his footing and tumbled down a small slope, landing unnervingly close to the wyrm. <What?! Certainly not!> he yawped indignantly, staring at a sharp rock inches from his head. The mana wyrm shrieked at the sudden disturbance, and Valrion scrambled to his feet and unconsciously clasped his hands in front of his groin. The wyrm took his flailing for weakness and struck, delivering tiny pinprick bite marks all across Valrion’s shoulders and swiftly uplifted forearms.

“Ow!” Valrion yelped, swatting at the creature, trying to grab its quick-moving head. The thing hissed at him and struck again, lightning fast. 

<My brilliant, lazy-ass little brother. A mana wyrm is attacking you, isn’t it?> his sister chided. <First you bury your head in books at the academy, now you pretend you are a farmer. Why do you devote so much time to breeding those things? There are so many more exciting places to explore than Sunstrider Isle.>

<Your loyalty to our homeland and ancestral traditions is admirable,> Valrion said, rolling his eyes. <Besides, I’m not at Sunstrider Isle. I’m in Netherstorm.>

<There are mana wyrms there?> Menna asked, sounding intrigued.

<Yep. Not many, but I found some. I knew Rashaad had to find them somewhere, and I’ll be damned I give forty gold for his black market whelps,> Valrion said.

Menna grunted appreciatively. <What you should do is join the market, and sell your wyrms to Rashaad.>

Valrion snorted. <I thought you didn't approve of my breeding operation, sister. >

<If you're gonna do it, do it smart, > she replied crisply. 

Valrion smiled to himself. His sister’s thoughts drifted away as she focused on something else. Probably killing something, Valrion thought, studying the small wyrm attacking him. He extended a hand towards the creature, and the brave thing bit down on his thumb, pointy teeth piercing his leather glove. The mage felt the mana within the creature tingle at the puncture site, and began slowly drawing it out.

The wyrm jerked, let out a high whine, and started to shrivel. The mana shivered through Valrion as pleasurably as an erogenous caress, leaving him shivering and effervescent. His eyelids fluttered, a scowl passed across his face-- he  _ had  _ wanted to breed this wyrm. It’s mana was particularly clean, and the thing had been infuriatingly difficult to find. But once he started feeding, well, he wasn’t going to leave the meal half done. He consumed the poor thing like a starving man at a feast.

Menna’s chuckle floated through his head again, interrupting the feeding, and Valrion’s scowl returned deeper. He forcibly cut himself off, and down looked at the ravaged wyrm laying in his hands. “Fuck,” he murmured. The thing was shrivelled as a raisen. Would he be able to nurse the thing back to health now? He had spent  _ hours _ searching for it. <What do you want, Menna? I breed these things for you too, you know.>

<Sorry to disturb your intimate moment with a wyrm, brother mine,> she giggled. <But are you done with my necklace enchant?>

Valrion groaned and rolled his eyes, partly at how often she bugged him, and partly annoyance at himself for forgetting. He deserved getting nagged. <I’ll mail it to you tonight.>

<That’s what you said last night.>

Valrion sighed. Right, he had said that. <I will actually mail it tonight.>

<Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Val,> Menna chided gently, but it still stung.

Valrion heard a clattering behind him and leapt over a boulder.

<I’ll whisper back later,> Valrion panted, hiding. <Intruder.>

<Oooh. Do have fun,> his sister teased, and slipped away.

The sounds of battle rang throughout the jagged landscape, deep grunts and the thwack of steel on flesh.

Valrion peered out from behind his boulder, pondering his escape plan as the battle swang into view. He studied his options, ogled the thick biceps, appreciated the sweaty chest, and the bare feet, and the bald head, and the thick beard, and… and...

It was a human.

Valrion felt his stomach sink into his toes.

“Shit,” he whispered emphatically to the withered wyrm in his hands, sinking down behind the boulder.

The Alliance goon ran by Valrion’s hiding spot, leaping from demon to demon in a joyous killing spree, ridiculously overpowered and in all likelihood considerably stronger than Valrion. When the warrior launched himself at an enemy around a bend, Valrion quickly summoned on his hearthstone and leapt through, the broken little mana wyrm cradled in his hands.

Valrion hit the dusty floor of his underground bunker and groaned. Quickly, he uncurled and checked on the wyrm, worried he had crushed it. The creature keened weakly in his hands.

“So sorry I hurt you,” Valrion crooned, stroking its iridescent fins and letting arcane power trickle from his fingers. The creature mewled and latched onto Valrion’s knuckle, sucking at the mana and creating yet another series of tiny puncture wounds. Valrion winced, but cooed all the same. “Yeah, drink up. It’s only fair,” he murmured.

The mana wyrm’s form solidified and its body strengthened, wriggling in his hands as it fed. Relief flooded the mage as the wyrm grew hale, and he rubbed his thumb along its scales. “Sorry I nearly ate all of you, you wonderful, magical thing,” he told it fondly, then carefully drew his thumb away from its mouth. It squeaked in protest, mouthing the air in search of the magic supply. “Oh, hush. I’ll show you where you can eat all the mana you want and you can get your strength back without eating me. You’re being greedy,” he chided.

It chirruped at him, and he couldn’t help but agree with it’s assessment that judgement was unwarranted.

Then his sister’s words floated through his brain and he scrambled to his feet, wiping the dust out of his robes. He carefully deposited the fragile mana wyrm in a spare cage, and in the process realized his hands were severely shakey. 

Was it because of the mana he’d given the wyrmling? Or because he didn’t like fighting warriors, and that human had the stink of a Champion about him? Best to keep champions at max range, especially Alliance champions. 

Valrion lidded the mana wyrm’s cage, and climbed the stairs out of his bunker into the cabin above. He collapsed on his untidy bed, sighing contentedly.

“Operation attain rare mana wyrm: success,” he congratulated himself. Other parts of him were excited about the victory, too. He kicked dirty robes and cloth armor off of his bed, and dragged his robe up his belly so he could reach his draw string and push his pants down his hips. “Success indeed, Val,” he murmured, gripping his excited cock. “Time to celebrate.”

His mind wandered back to the near encounter with the human. He daydreamed of a warrior excited about smashing demons so Valrion could reach mana wyrms unhindered. A non-mage who didn’t judge Valrion’s addiction or his hobby of breeding the little wyrms, and supported the venture. Perhaps even helped with the mating. In very skimpy plate, with a very big sword. Probably while making out with Valrion’s first lover-- Zandine-- and like always, she was ambitious and ravenous, and devoured that massive human cock as if it were her favorite dessert and she couldn’t eat it fast enough. The human's eyes would roll back in his head and his muscled belly would flex, and he would reach out for Valrion, pull the elf closer, and Valrion was suddenly spurting, pleasure shuddering through him as all his muscles clenched.

He grunted, pleased, and cleaned himself up with a rag. Then he cocooned himself in his comforter and drifted off to sleep.


	2. Uninvited Interruptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the best...friend?
> 
> [Edit 6.5.19: edited dialogue so it flows more smoothly.]

_Male masturbation, bestial voyeurism, walking in on and embarrassment_

 

The next day, Valrion strolled through the verdant hills of Quel’thalas, cage tucked under his arm, and basked in the sunlight and beauty of his homeland. 

He walked up to a pair of small trees that were covered in large, airy netting. He inspected the enclosure, making sure the silk threads were strong and that the net was securely pegged into the ground. Inside the sanctuary, fertile female wyrmlings swarmed-- vibrant, energetic creatures that zipped around and occasionally nipped at him. Their teeth didn’t hurt--he wore thick quilted armor expressly for this purpose. His wyrms were  _ not _ docile creatures, not like the natives of Sunstrider Isle, and the padding was not just precautionary.

“Hello, ladies,” he giggled as the school of wyrms nibbled his armor.

In the cage under Valrion carried, the freshly caught Netherstorm male shrieked and rattled its bars, protesting its captivity. Valrion grinned, pleased with the strength of its recovery, and carefully nudged back the females who were pressing their noses to the bars.

“Be gentle, ladies,” he purred at his breeding stock, making sure he didn’t pinch any of their fins as he undid the cage’s lock. “Who would like a closer look at our new stud?”

Several of the bitches thrilled their interest, nudging at his fingers to hurry him up. Valrion chuckled and pulled the lid open with a flourish. 

The stud was immediately engulfed in a swarm of rutting females. They all squealed in joy as the breeding frenzy began.

The females twisted and twined around the male before he even made it out of the cage, chirruping and whistling as he was nuzzled into engorgement. His phallus slid from a slit in his belly, corkscrewed and opalescent, and within minutes he began pumping mists of semen into the air. The females swarmed the clouds, catching the dew on their swollen bellies and rubbing it into their egg pouches with their fins. If the Netherstorm male was highly fertile, most of the females could lay a dozen or so eggs within two or three days. Valrion hoped he was.

“Mmm. I’m glad he’s yummy,” Valrion murmured, sinking down next to the tree trunk. He leaned against the bark and his hand wandered to his groin and he lazily rubbed himself, chewing his lip as he watched the wyrms intertwine. Soon his pants were pinching too tightly, and he untied the front flap to release the pressure.

“Damn, I owe her five gold,” a hoarse voice intoned.

Valrion yelped and nearly hurt himself in his rush to get himself tucked back in.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” a pale death knight drawled, strolling to Valrion’s side. He gestured towards the tangled mass that was the breeding wyrms. “They’re like massive magical animate floating cocks fucking themselves silly. And they glow in the dark. Fel, I'd rut with the trees over this.”

Valrion blushed so deeply his cheeks hurt. “The fuck are you doing here, Thandiel?” he demanded, his fingers slipping on the knot of his drawstring. “Who the fuck are you making bets with?”

Thandiel tucked a strand of white hair behind his corpse-blue ear and squatted next to the flustered mage. “Which question should I answer first?”

Valrion threw grass at him.

“Pissy much?” he asked, calmly picking grass from his hair. “Fine. First question: your sister. Second question: I’m bored as fel. Let’s go out.”

“Why the fuck should I go out with you?” Valrion hissed, successfully tying off his drawstring and clambering to his feet to glare down at his friend. “And you fucking make bets about me with my sister? About my sex life?!”

Thandiel managed to look sheepish. “Menna didn’t send me, though she did bitch about how unreliable you are about your enchants.” 

“I knew it,” Valrion groaned, dragging a hand down his face. 

The death knight continued, unperturbed. “Then, when she heard I was heading over to hit up some clubs, she betted you weren’t going to be interested because you were masturbating to mana wyrms. I said no hot-blooded elf would sink that low-”

Valrion threw the mana wyrm’s cage in the death knight’s face with an indignant grunt. Thandiel caught it, easily, as he did most things Valrion threw.

“Hey. I didn’t mention cold-blooded elves,” Thandiel said, lifting and lowering one shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve done worse. I’m not judging.”

He was telling the truth. Valrion  _ had  _ dared Thandiel to rut the knot of a tree. Thandiel had complained about splinters for months, while Valrion laughed and called him a dumbass. And Valrion didn’t want to know what he had gotten up to in Northrend, though Thandiel had tried several times to tell him.

“Take yourself and your perverted dead ass out of my tent.”

“Fiiiine. I’ll tell Menna I’m right,” Thandiel said, standing and heading towards the door.

Valrion dragged his hands down his face. “Guh,” he groaned.

Thandiel paused, looking over his shoulder.

“I did defend you, you know,” Thandiel said, turning around hopefully.

Valrion lowered his hands and glowered at Thandiel.

“C’mon. Let’s hit the town. You’re horny as fuck and self-isolating again. I’m bored as fuck. Guldan is dead. Most of our friends are dead. I’m dead. The undead are all boring. Let’s go out, celebrate the living, paint the town, yadda yadda, find a couple of whores and remind them about the infamous blood elf stamina-”

“You are  _ not  _ dragging me to an orgy to sate your own filthy desires,” Valrion hissed.

Thandiel shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

That settled, Valrion straightened his shoulders. “Might as well get this over with,” he grumbled, pushing past the death knight.

“That’s the spirit,” Thandiel said brightly, and followed the cantankerous mage home.


	3. Pounding Pavers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night on the town is good for the heart. He was definitely thinking the heart.
> 
> [EDIT: 6.5.19: Drunken consent is still questionable consent, but efforts were made.]

_Drunkenness and bonding with old friends, F/M interracial back alley blow job, questionable consent, voyeurism_

 

Back at Valrion’s small hut in Eversong Woods, Thandiel declared it was time for Valrion to clean up before the night out.

“It’s bad when a death knight can smell you,” Thandiel added.

Valrion huffed, but once in the tub, the mage felt the fight leave him. It was like the tension was the only thing holding him together, and as it relaxed exhaustion settled in. He took his time washing out his hair, let his fingers go pruney, and listened to Thandiel clunk around in the main room. He was vindictively content with making the death knight wait.

When the water got cold, he toweled off and padded to his closet in fuzzy slippers and fluffy bathrobe. His shoulders slumped as he surveyed his collection of robes. “Man, I really have let myself go,” he murmured, picking at the red and gold sleeve of his favorite ensemble.

He sighed and slid on his least tattered robe, a purple number that screamed mage but was at least clean.

He came out of his bedroom to a main room wasn’t exactly sparkling, but was certainly more tidy. “When did you become a maid?”  he asked as Than’diel swept dust-bunnies out into the street.

Than’diel rolled his eyes. “When did you become a bachelor with something to prove?”

Valrion surveyed his quarters with a sinking feeling, not quite dreading a night out but realizing just how little he had taken care of himself the past month. Dealing with one person was wearisome, dealing with _people_ … Valrion wasn’t sure he could do it.

“Where were you thinking of dragging me?” Valrion asked, trying to resign himself to his fate. He knew that actually seeing people would be good for him, but he all he wanted to do was bury himself in his lab again.

“Wherever. I don’t care as long as they have coffee,” Thandiel said,  sweeping out the last of the dust bunnies. “Where will you not resent being dragged to?”

Valrion shot the death knight a scowl, but then spent a moment to think about it. Orgrimmar and Undercity were… not the kind of places where Valrion could unwind. Silvermoon was still too depressing. Perhaps The Vale of Eternal Blossoms? The Pandaren were certainly hospitable and had fantastic retreats, but Valrion was pretty certain they wouldn’t have coffee.

Than’diel lightly socked his shoulder. “I didn’t ask you a complex alchemical question, Val. What about Warspear? The Brokenspear Tavern has good coffee, there aren’t many people there as the campaign winds down, and there is more than enough variety there for your exotic tastes.”

“What?” Valrion asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I'm sorry. Your _discerning_ tastes.”

Valrion didn’t like the grin barely hidden in his friend’s face. “No, you said exotic. What the fel is that supposed to mean?”

Thandiel shrugged. “The Val I used to know liked adventure and intrigue. Now you just want quiet places. Warspear’s both: out of the way, and not your normal stomping grounds. I’ve been hanging out there a lot recently. Wanna go?”

“Sure,” Valrion grunted, and spun up a teleportation for them both.

When the two blood elves arrived at the encampment, the streets were quiet. Valrion glanced around and wondered what time of night it actually was, for Warspear looked asleep and war camps never slept. But, still, it didn’t feel abandoned like Silvermoon, and despite himself Valrion felt excitement bubble in his stomach.

It was a short stroll to the Brokenspear Tavern. The low light of the candles and the warmth of the brazier was soothing, and there was a smattering of customers filling the air with a low buzz of conversation. The two elves found a table near the bar, opposite a lone Warspear grunt quietly drowning herself in beer.

“Hello, mon,” the troll bartender said warmly with a toothy smile for both Thandiel and Valrion.

“Lina’gar, it is good to see you. How has business been recently?” Thandiel said, easily striking up conversation as he slid into his chair.

“Eh, business be slow and steady,” Lina’gar said as she cleaned out a mug. “The usual?”

“Yes, and some red for my friend,” Thandiel said. “Lina’gar, this is Valrion. Valrion, meet the best barkeep this side of Draenor.”

Lina’gar grinned and scolded Thandiel gently with an airy, “Flatterer,” then moved away to fill their order.

“Coffee?” Valrion questioned his friend’s choice of drink when the steaming mug was placed before him. The young Thandiel he had known had drank more than a fish.

“Black as sin, and the only thing I can taste,” Thandiel replied.

Valrion absorbed that for a moment, sipping his own wine. “I thought they didn’t sell that here anymore.”

“Lina’gar owes me a favor,” Thandiel said into his mug.

Valrion arched an eyebrow, glancing subvertly at the bartender. The troll was cleaning her beer steins, but her gaze kept drifting towards the death knight. “Is this the kind of favor that gets… renewed? Every time you visit?”

“Maybe,” Thandiel said, _not_ smiling in that particular way that meant mischief.

Valrion groaned and tried unsuccessfully to not think about the death knight banging the bartender under the bar. “Thanidel, you’re dead. Don’t go boning every barkeep.”

“Ha! _Boning_. Never heard that one before,” Thandiel said, grinning wolfishly.

“ _Can_ you get hard?” Val demanded in a fierce whisper. Then he immediately regretted asking and downed his wine in one long chug.

Thandiel waited patiently, and arched a delicate eyebrow. “They call corpses ‘stiffies’ for a reason,” he deadpanned when Valrion lowered his glass.

Valrion nearly snorted his wine, and realized a moment too late that his jaw was agape. Thandiel leaned back with a smirk, hooking his arm over the back of his chair and propping an ankle on his knee.

“I’m getting more wine.” Valrion shot to his feet and stomped the five steps to the bar.

Lina’gar met his eyes and smiled warmly, and Valrion turned beet red.

“Red, please,” he said, putting the glass down so forcefully that a crack sounded throughout the room. Valrion glanced quickly at the glass, relieved he hadn’t actually shattered it.

The bartender graciously didn’t comment about the color of his face. Or how it related to the drink he ordered. Or the state of his glass. “Relax,” she drawled instead. “Ironwine isn’t delicate, but it is good for relaxing or forgetting,” she advised, quietly refilling his glass. Then she pushed forward a mug of steaming coffee. “For your friend,” she said with a wink. Valrion really wished she hadn’t winked.

Valrion wandered back to his table, trying to not be uncomfortable. It didn’t help that two goblins were flirting shamelessly near the door, staring at him with big eyes as they enthusiastically swapped horrifying stories about goblin-made alcohol. He dropped Thandiel’s coffee into the death knight’s lap and quickly tucked into his second glass of wine.

“I miss the days when we went bar crawling together,” Thandiel reminisced. “Thanks for coming out, Val.”

Valrion blushed again. “Those days are long past, Than.”

“But here you are now. And you were the best wing man, way back. I owe you. So, if a willing gal comes along, would you go for a tumble?” Thandiel asked, eying the innkeeper, a blonde elf in black and red leather. When Valrion blushed and stared into his cup, the death knight continued. “I mean, you’ve got to carry on the reputation of hot-bloodedness for both of us now. I can pull a few strings.”

Valrion thought about it. “Blood elf chicks aren’t so…” his voice drifted off as he eyed the innkeeper’s leather and steel gloves.

“Voracious?” Thandiel supplied his lock-lipped friend.

“Interested,” Valrion corrected.

“Bah. They’re interested enough, you just have to find the right ones. Unless you’re more interested in the more beastly members of the Horde…?”

“Gods, no,” Valrion said, thinking of the hairy Tauren or slippery goblins.

“What about Lina’gar?” Thandiel asked, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “Or that quiet gal over there, not talking to her mon?”

Valrion blanched.

“No trolls, then. Who _do_ you like these days, Val?”

“I don’t know,” Valrion groaned, flopping forward so his head was in his arms.

“Gods, it’s been so long you don’t remember? How about a nice Northrend chick?”

“You mean death knight?” Valrion asked, peeking out from under his sleeve. Thandiel just shrugged. “I don’t know anyone who would want to go _back_ to Northrend once they got out, but, yeah, if a girl out of Northrend wanted to get down, I guess I’d be down. I mean… I don’t know if she’d feel anything, but if it made her happy, I’d do it. Death knights have too little to be happy about.”

The corner of Thandiel’s lip lifted, a lop-sided smile that melted into a mischevious grin so quick Valrion almost missed it. “Then we need to go to more happening places, not these backwater taverns,” Thandiel said.

Valrion glared at him. “Don’t push your luck. _You’re_ the one who suggested this place.”

“True,” he said. “But, about pushing luck, are you actually okay if I _do_ pull some strings? So you can get lucky. For real.”

After a thoughtful, quiet pause, wherein Valrion thought about his circumstances and considered how much anxiety he felt in his gut, the mage glanced at his friend and nodded slightly.

Thandiel grinned, then leaned back in his chair and called, “Lina, darling, would you also bring slab of clefthoof and some of that wonderful cheese?”

The troll grinned at Thandiel. “Of course, mon,” and descended the stairs to the kitchen below.

Valrion stared. “You just said you only drink coffee.”  
“I don’t eat. But you’re famished.”

“No I’m not.”

Thandiel raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t eaten since I stole you from your menagerie, and you probably didn’t eat for hours before that. We left your mana wyrms six hours ago. You’re getting grumpy, and you just had three glasses of wine on an empty stomach. And you agreed to my arrangement, so you will need food or you are going to pass out. If you are actually not hungry then the food comes I’ll let you reject it, but you can’t say no until you’ve smelled it.”

Valrion couldn’t think of a comeback, and what’s worse, when the steaming food was put down in front of him a moment later, his mouth watered and his stomach growled loudly.  He shovelled it into his gullet with abandon while Thandiel leaned back and failed at trying to not look smug.

Valrion spared a moment to mumble, “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I see you laughing at me.”

“I am doing no such thing,” Thandiel said, and sipped his coffee. Then he looked past Valrion and grinned broadly. “Oh, look! Here comes the party.”

Valrion twisted around, barbecue dribbling down his chin, as a party of three ladies strolled into the bar. One spotted Thandiel, grinned and waved, and all three came over.

All three of them were women. All three of them were dead. All of them were happy, and draping themselves across Thandiel and giving Valrion appreciative looks that made him want to curl into his skin and float away on the wind, invisible.

“Valrion, these are my friends. Heyzzle,” he pointed at a little goblin lady in tiny purple armor with a huge nose piercing, “Arachni,” a ruddy blood elf in bloody armor, “and Morticia,” a human undead with green hair and wine colored armor. All three grinned at Valrion, and Val struggled to keep his dinner down. He didn’t want to insult anyone, especially about something so sensitive as being undead, but having death knights grinning at him while he ate clefthoof steak from the bone was a feat he wasn’t prepared for.

He put the steak down and wiped his face off with a napkin, and croaked a small, “Hello.”

“Nice to meet you, Valrion,” Heyzzle said, extending a hand to Valrion with an even wider grin.

Valrion made sure to wipe his hand clean, and then extended his arm for a handshake. It was oddly formal, and Valrion felt disoriented. How should he behave? Like a gentleman with female guests? Or like the teenage randy blood elf he had been when Thandiel and he had bar-hopped across Azeroth?

A glance at Thandiel, who was surreptitiously sliding his fingertips under Morticia’s armor while she slid her hand into his shirt, helped orient him.

He met the goblin’s sparkling eyes and she chirruped, “You like those Rylak claws? Wait until you try a piece of _this_ shortcake!”

He snorted. “I’m a fire mage. Come over here, baby, and let me warm you up.”

“Augh!” Thandiel groaned. “You should’ve talked about her eyes!”

“Or your mana wyrm,” the blood elf lay crooned, settling between Thandiel and Valrion against the wall.

The goblin giggled and slid next to him. “Or your hair,” she said, fondling the ends. “I have a scrunchy.”

Valrion laughed, feeling himself loosen up. “Are all blood elf men judged so harshly?” he asked, looking to Thandiel for support.

“They’re just jealous,” Thandiel replied with a grin. “All we’ve got are good sides. Show ‘em off.”

There weren’t any more uncomfortable moments, but Valrion studiously avoided anything related to being undead, and Thandiel kept up a steady supply of pastries and coffee and wine, and Heyzzle kept up a steady supply of jokes. Most of the jokes were at someone’s expense, and all of them hilarious. Valrion blushed lightly when she teased his expanding stomach (which indeed could be seen, taunt against Valrion’s too-thin frame), but it felt good and he laughed and teased her about using an elephant rib to pierce her nose. 

Arachni and Morticia seemed to sense the bonding happening between goblin and elf, and they scooted closer to Thandiel. Whenever Valrion glanced at the three, there seemed to be more and more secretive petting, and dimly Valrion wondered if the death knights even felt their touches. But then Heyzzle snuggled up to his side, fitting perfectly under his arm as she guffawed. She captured his attention as she animatedly told ridiculous stories to her friends and sneakily slid a hand around behind him to grope his ass.

Valrion wouldn’t remember any more of the wandering conversation, only that it didn’t seem to matter what topic that came up, it just felt good to be in a conversation.

A few hours later and the party stumbled out into the light snow. Thandiel supported a stumbling Valrion out into the alleys so he could retch in the gutter.

“Here. This will help,” a kind, high-pitched voice said.

A mug of steaming coffee appeared before his face, and Valrion accepted graciously, washing the acid from his mouth. It warmed him, and cleared his head. He savored it for a few more moments. Then he looked down.

Heyzzle was grinning up at him. She was cute, with a button nose and luscious plump lips painted an enticing purple that complimented her skin. Valrion caught himself staring, and quickly averted his eyes and shook his head. But that made the world spin, and he stumbled back against the wall. He spread his hands out behind him, pressing his palms into the brick and seeking the stability of the cool wall.

“You elves are _so cute!_ ” the goblin squeaked gleefully, yanking his skirts up. “Now that we’re out of the bar, mind if I have a taste, honey?” she asked, fingers pausing on his drawstring.

Valrion stared. It was convenient-- she was exactly at hip height. His cheeks were blazing as he slowly nodded.

“Is that a yes, you mind, or yes, it is okay for me to give you a lick?” the little goblin asked, grinning coyly. “To be clear, I want to suck on you until you cum.”

“Y-yes, you can touch me,” Valrion said huskily, his voice hoarse from vomiting. “B-but only if you want it…”

“Oh, you belf boys are like candy!” she squealed happily, and quickly undid his smallclothes.

Her lips were cold.

Not just cold. Freezing. His groin recoiled at temperature. _She must have just eaten an icy at the inn,_ Valrion thought as his balls tried to squeeze their way back into his body. But at the same time, his instincts were yelling at him to thrust. Something lost in the battle, and in about five seconds Valrion was humping frantically into her icy mouth.

Amazement that she had no gag reflex swam through his thoughts, but it was drowned in pleasure. His world shrank down to his cock and the supple purple lips spread around it. She tilted her eyes towards him, and they were a disturbing ice blue. Staring into her eyes, he reached out to gently hold her head, and she reached up to tickle his retracting balls.

Valrion came violently, spluttering into her throat. He cried out and stumbled, but her suddenly vice-like grip on his thighs held him up. She pinned him against the wall and gulped him down hungrily, some of his cum leaking out of the corners of her overfull mouth. When he was done, she pulled away with a pop, smacking her lips and grinning up at him.

“Elf cock is the best. So _hot._ Thank ya, luv!”

Valrion’s eyes rolled back in his head.

Someone tall and familiar detached himself from the shadows and caught Valrion before he could crumple on top of the little goblin. Valrion thought he would lose consciousness, and maybe he did, for a bit. Everything was swimming around him, and a part of his soul seemed to have fled with his cum. Heyzzle was beside him, holding him up despite her tiny stature, her strong hand on his ass. On his other side he was supported by another, taller, person. A long arm wrapped around his side, hand digging a little uncomfortably into his ribs whenever Valrion stumbled. He looked up and saw Than’diel’s palid chin, and felt a rush of fondness for his friend who took care of him.

“Thank you,” he bubbled profusely.

“You’re welcome,” Thandiel said kindly. Valrion had a fuzzy impression of conversation and the passing of coins, and then Valrion was being moved out of the alleyway.

Valrion didn’t want to move. “No,” he moaned. “No walking.”

“We gotta get you to a bed, Val.”

“This’s’okay.”

“No, the gutter is not an okay place to sleep. Come.”

Than’diel’s strong hand remained on his back even when Valrion started heaving up the last his drink, covering the front of his robe and then a drain with blackened vomit.

“I… why am I so fucking alone?” Valrion coughed, wiping at his chin miserably.

“Hush,” Than’diel comforted. “You are not alone. You have lots of friends. Heyzzle took care of you, and now I’ll get you home.”

“Mmm,” Valrion replied. Valrion didn’t know where he was being led, just that it trying to put one foot in front of the other needed constant focus.


End file.
